Beyond This Illusion
by carryon-vs
Summary: Episode 1.09. Following a case involving what they think is Mothman, Dean and Sam quickly find out not everything is what it first appeared. Angels aren't who they thought they were and they are drawn once again into odd dreams.
1. Chapter 1

Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 9: Beyond This Illusion

Authors: Bayre

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

Summary: Following a case involving what they think is Mothman, Dean and Sam quickly find out not everything is what it first appeared. Angels aren't who they thought they were and they are drawn once again into odd dreams and given unique insights into seals and their destiny.

**PART ONE**

Dean sighed. Again. He sighed and shifted in his seat. He sighed, shifted in his seat and glanced in the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time.

"Do you need to pee?" Sam turned toward his brother. He couldn't take it anymore.

"It was on the news again this morning." Dean glanced at Sam, then sighed, shifting he went back to staring out the front windshield.

Now was Sam's turn to sigh. "What happened in the hotel? In that storm while I was out? Which brings me to ask, why was I out cold?"

"It's on the front page of that paper you're holding." Dean's right hand left the steering wheel, two fingers tapping the paper Sam held in his lap but wasn't reading. Then he moved it to Sam's knee for a brief second gave a squeeze and took hold of the steering wheel with both hands again.

Sam scratched at his jaw and nodded. He understood Dean's deflection techniques when he saw them. It didn't mean he wouldn't get answers; the opposite in fact. What it did mean was he was going to have to clamp down on his questions, be patient and let Dean work things out in his head. Only then would Sam get answers.

He studied the newspaper resting across his legs, "We have seen a lot of reports, haven't we?" Unable to disagree even a little bit with Dean on this one, he couldn't help how his lips twitched into a smile,

"Dude," Dean smacked his arm, "it's _Mothman_. Legendary."

"And you call me a geek."

Dean snorted, "Come on, Sammy, admit it. This is cool no matter what."

Sam stopped resisting the urge to crack a full-on smile. "Yeah, it is." He looked up from the newspaper and made a conscious effort to ignore the way Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, arched an eyebrow and gave the back seat a clear _don't-mess-with-me_ glare. "Do you find it odd that everywhere we look, every TV we see, every place we stop to eat, someone is talking about it, everywhere we turn we see a report and it's all from the same town?"

"Set up." Dean didn't really ask. He just put the words out there between them.

Shrugging, Sam picked at a spot on the car seat until Dean reached out and flicked at the back of his hand. "It's something we'd both be really interested in. Mothman only appears in one place at a time and is linked to prophecy and disaster."

"And, we'd both really want to look into it." Dean added.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting that someone is sending us there feeling." Sam said.

Dean nodded, "maybe even several someones."

"Oh, that cheers me up. Are we anywhere near there?"

"We're in the Northern Hemisphere, so I'd say so." Dean turned to Sam long enough to let a slow smile spread over his face. "We are heading west."

The simple fact was, Dean was right. Mothman was one of those things that if they ever ran across, it there'd be no discussion or even thinking about it. This was something they'd pack up and drive any distance for.

Something about the town's name, though, niggled at the back of Sam's brain; he made a mental note to remember to check into it when they stopped for the night. "Need me to look up a route?" Sam held up his GPS.

Dean blew out a quick laugh, "Naaa…got it covered already."

"Are you thinking it's someone who knows us as well as we know ourselves?"

"I don't know, Sammy. I'd like to think we're not that transparent. Besides, Dad never thought much of Mothman, I guess because it never hurt anyone, just signaled something happening and really had nothing to do with the types of things he hunted."

Dean signaled and guided the car to an off ramp. "We need gas," he said in response to the question Sam drew in a breath to ask, but didn't actually articulate. When he pulled into a small gas station, Dean cut the engine and turned to face Sam, pulling his knee up to rest on the seat between them, just barely pressing against Sam's leg. "Sammy." When Sam said nothing Dean's voice came out more sternly, "Sam. Look at me."

Sam looked up.

Dean's hand wound around the back of Sam's neck and squeezed then patted his shoulder. "He won't hurt you, not again, I promise. No one…" Dean heaved a sigh, "To do that someone needs to go through me first, and no one will…ever." In the next second Dean was out of the car, popping the Impala's hood and disappearing underneath.

Sam watched through the space between the open hood and the car body as Dean went through the all-too-familiar motions of pulling out the oil dipstick, checking it, and putting it back, hands—strong, sure, steady—moving on to other parts of the car. Leaning against the door, Sam opened it slowly and unfolded his legs to the ground, stretching as he stood straight. He drew in a deep breath of fresh air and rapped on the side of the car to get Dean's attention. "I'm going to head inside," he nodded at the store. "You want anything?"

"The usual. Oh, and two quarts of oil."

"Okay." Sam knocked his knee into the back of Dean's as he walked by, snickering when Dean stumbled sideways to keep his balance.

"Get the good stuff," Dean called after him.

"Yeah, yeah, damn machine eats better than I do," Sam grumbled under his breath.

The gas station store was like every other gas station store in the continental United States, and Canada too, Sam supposed. Snacks, beer, pop, iced tea, juice, coffee and hot cocoa dispensers, sandwiches…nothing new and nothing special. Sam grabbed the required two quarts of oil—the good stuff—then loaded up with bags of munchies, a few drinks, and some bottles of water while thinking they really should make more of an effort to stop in the bigger grocery stores when they could to stock up on these things. They'd get more stuff for—as Dean was always reminding him—his hard-earned poker winnings.

Sam paid for their goods, wincing inwardly at how much it all cost, took his bags and headed back to the car. Dean was already waiting inside for him. "Hey, you know we need to hit a real city and a Target or somewhere and buy stuff, it's cheaper."

Sam's words died away as he got nearer the car. Dean wasn't looking for him as usual, or even paying attention to the fact that Sam was talking to him while still ten feet from the car.

Dean was turned around, one arm thrown over the seat back, staring into the back seat. It wasn't the fact that Dean was staring at the back seat as much as it was the fact Dean was talking—no arguing—with it.

"No, you listen to me," Dean snapped and pointed one finger in the vicinity of the passenger half of the back seat. "I don't have to do squat for you or your bros, so you want me, you get _us_."

Sam tossed the bags into the front floor well and climbed into the car, carefully putting his feet on either side of the bags.

"Oh, and stop with the itch. There is no itch. You'd better not even think of an itch and if you so much as _want_ to think of scratching I'll cut your damn hands off." Dean blew out a breath, "Oh, don't pull that crap, you heard me."

Sam flipped open the newspaper, and dug into one of the bags extracting a family-sized bag of Cheetos. He wondered if the back seat wanted any, or if he would seem rude for not offering.

"No, no, no, you don't get it. Listen up, it's Dean _and_ Sam. Both of us, we're sort of a package deal. There're no buts about it and if you don't quit badmouthing my kid brother you'll get a mouthful of this." Dean held up one fist and shook it at the back seat, face going from angry to something even worse.

Popping a few Cheetos into his mouth and chewing, Sam scanned the newspaper, glancing sideways at Dean every few seconds. Delighted as he was Dean was sticking up for him, Sam would have been happier if he'd been doing so to an actual person and if Sam actually knew why Dean felt the need to stick up for him. It was unsettling on a very base level to see and hear his brother like this. Sam didn't like it, he didn't like it at all.

Sam doubted the Impala had anything against him: well maybe other than the few times Sam had bled or vomited on the upholstery. Then, again, Dean had, too, and the car didn't hate him. Okay, so Sam had been driving when they'd been run down by a semi-truck, but that wasn't Sam's fault and if the car was pissed at that, well it was a long time ago, why bring it up now? The Impala needed to get over herself…itself, _itself_, the car was an it _not_ a she.

Crap, now Dean had Sam doing it too. The only difference being he was keeping his thoughts in his head and not spewing them out of his mouth.

A woman and two small children walked by on their way to a SUV. The woman's eyes widened and she hustled the two kids along. Sam offered her an anemic smile and waved three fingers at her.

"Look, isn't the Apocalypse coming, no matter what? The seals are like mile markers, right?" Dean was silent for a few seconds before his face fell. "Well, I guess, demons lie, mostly, but this was…yeah, demons lie."

An elderly man walked by, staring into the car. When Sam frowned, the man looked away quickly and sidestepped farther around the car than was really necessary. If they didn't drive away soon, they were going to attract much unwanted attention, not that they weren't attracting some now. Sam had two choices: shove his brother out of the car and drive away, or get Dean to do the driving. Since Dean was pretty adamant with the back seat that he and Sam were a team and Dean had no intention of breaking that team up or leaving Sam somewhere, Sam decided he couldn't dump Dean, either. Getting him to drive was the only option.

Reaching out, about to grab his brother's shoulder and get his attention, Sam's thoughts were suddenly and powerfully pulled to the road. Turning around without even thinking about it, he cranked down the window, hung half his upper body out of it and shouted, "Hey, look out!" He wasn't even sure who he was yelling to or why until he heard the squeal of tires and horns blaring.

Sam sat motionless, staring at the scene across the street. A couple pulling a sled with two toddlers bundled on it stood in the middle of a small crowd. A bus was stopped just feet from them, half on one street and half on another.

Dean stopped talking. He scooted closer to Sam, leaned over and stared out the window. "Wow." He drew the word out on one long breath. "They must have been in the driver's blind spot."

"Yeah," Sam whispered, barely looking back at his brother. "I don't know why I knew to yell and _then_ look."

"The important thing is, they're not squished into grease spots." Dean clapped Sam's shoulder a few times, shoved back behind the wheel and started the car, pulling out of the gas station and heading west again. "We need to find somewhere to stop for the night. Keep an eye out for somewhere with WiFi, or see if you can find somewhere on the GPS."

"O-okay…uh…"

"We need to dig up everything we can on Mothman and Seven Trumpets, Washington and the meaning of the name of the town. There's a connection and we need to check it out. It's important."

"But…the Apocalypse…"

"Exactly." Dean gave him an annoyed look. "Sam—"

Sam launched himself across the seat, grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it toward him at the same time shouting, "Dean, look out!"

"What the hell, Sam, there's nothing—holy crap!"

Dean's right arm shot out and stretched completely across Sam's chest to grab his right shoulder. With his left hand, he frantically spun the wheel. Sam felt the grip of tires on the pavement when Dean pumped the brakes. Sam's own hands shot out, his left holding Dean's jacket and his right braced against the dash.

A delivery truck blasted through the intersection where the Impala clearly had the green light. Dean gave the wheel a final twist and pressed down steadily on the brakes, making the car slide sideways to a stop.

Sam sat staring at the road and the receding back end of the truck. He wondered if he should stress to the Impala this wasn't his fault either and he'd saved her—it…_IT_—another collection of dents. As if it weren't bad enough with his father a demon and his brother apparently having his brains turned into Fruit Loops, now Sam was worried about what the damn car thought.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean shook Sam. "Sammy!"

Jerking his head around to face Dean, Sam sat there, trying to force his suddenly out of control breathing back to normal.

"SAM!" Dean barked at him.

"I'm…yeah…I'm…I don't know how I did that."

Dean sat blinking at him for a minute. "That is the second time in ten minutes that's happened. A little creepy there, little bro."

Relaxing, Sam straightened in his seat and leveled a glare at Dean. "'Cause debating the Apocalypse and seals and me with a forty-year-old-car, which granted has seen a lot of hunts, but is it really that helpful, that isn't a bit…oh…I don't know? Odd?"

Attention suddenly drawn to the rearview mirror, Dean pointed at it, gave it a menacing glare and said, "Can it. I don't care what your say and the only thing making your ass look fat is your fat ass, not the pants."

Sam turned and leaned over the seat, thoroughly searching the back of the car. "Dean, seriously, there is nothing back here other than two bottles of water, a first aid kit, blanket and three empty M&M bags."

"Keep up, will you, Sam? I keep telling you we have a guardian angel." Dean motioned between himself and Sam.

"In the back seat? Like an imaginary friend?"

"Yes. _No_."

"Dean—"

"Sam, trust me, please?"

"Trust you like when I was seven and you told me I really was invisible and I tried to go to school in my just my socks? Trust you like that? You know, winter is Idaho in flipping cold."

Dean's lips pressed together, his hands gripping the steering wheel with enough pressure his knuckles went white. He took in a deep breath and used a tone of voice that was soft and persistent. "No. Trust me as in I'm your brother, I love you more than anyone in the freaking universe and I was willing to sell my soul for you trust me." He glanced over at Sam. "Besides, I was eleven, what did you honestly expect?"

Well, didn't that just make Sam feel about six inches tall?

Turning to face the front of the car, Sam sat staring at his hands feeling very ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"He's there." Another vile glare tossed at the rearview mirror. "He's _our_ guardian angel. _Both_ of us, dickhead."

"I said I was sorry."

"Not you, you're not the dickhead, he's the dickhead." Dean started the car, putting it into gear. Ten miles down the road, Dean glowered at the rearview mirror again, pointed to it and snapped out, "Shut it. Now!"

Sam resigned himself to sitting quietly, chewing on his lip. He almost wished Dean hadn't admitted to him about the voices. He wasn't entirely sure he believed the voices belonged to an angel, but he was willing to bet they at least were real and belonged to something. Something plaguing—_haunting_—his brother. The only other explanation was one Sam refused to believe and didn't even want to entertain: that his brother was certifiable.

That simply wasn't the case, now or ever.

An hour later, they found a fairly cheap motel advertising free WiFi, Sam's favorite kind. Across the parking lot was a diner that actually had good smells wafting out. Sam's stomach rumbled its approval. They deposited their duffels in the motel room, grabbed quick showers and walked across to the diner, and not a moment too soon. Both their stomachs had passed by rumbling and were onto more vicious sounds.

Thankfully, Dean didn't see the need to discuss anything with the closet, shower or any of the furniture in their room or parts of the diner.

While Dean sat thumping his fingers on the table, Sam opened his laptop, getting online. He barely took notice when the waitress put his food beside him. The sounds of Dean's chewing reached his ears but were tuned out. He was sucked into his research almost at once, which was why the loud crack in front of him made him jump so much he nearly fell off the chair.

"Sam, stop that." Dean's hand hit the table. "I mean it, enough is enough."

Looking up from his laptop, Sam glanced at the plate of half-eaten food, the French fry in his hand halfway to his mouth then around the diner. "Stop…eating? Reading?" What the heck had he done now? Or maybe it was the coat rack behind him Dean was upset with.

"You're being a jerk. I wish I'd never told you about hearing—you're being a real ass about this and it's not funny! Any other day of the week you'd want to talk this to death, and _now_ you don't say a word about all this bullshit?"

Sam stuffed the fry into his mouth more to buy time than because he wanted it. Sighing, he tried to lighten the moment and ease Dean's mood. "The voices. What do they say? You're not talking to someone's dog whose telling you to kill people, I hope."

Dean glared then growled. _Growled_! Picking up his plate, he shoved the chair back and stalked across the room to another empty table.

Yeah, that made Sam feel even smaller. He sucked.

Sam really had to work on his Dean mood-lightening skills. Heaving a sigh, Sam gathered his plate and laptop and followed his brother. "Dean, I'm sorry." Glancing around to be sure no one was listening, Sam leaned forward. "But come on, you're hearing voices. If it was me, you'd totally love the Son of Sam thing." Waving one hand up and down his chest, "You know—me…a talking dog…Dean? I'm sorry."

"I'm not crazy," Dean snapped.

"I don't think—" Sam's words were cut off by some bum dropping into the empty chair between them. "Excuse me?"

"Of course Dean isn't crazy, Sam," the bum announced happily.

"Who the hell are you? How the hell do you know my name and what the _hell_ do you want?" Sam's hand hit flat on the table as he started rising out of the chair.

"Oh, oh, oh, language, please." The bum covered his ears and scrunched his eyes shut. "I thought you'd be happy to see me as well as hear me."

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again, hovering half in and half out of his chair. Sam choked and coughed, staring at his brother who stared back.

Opening his eyes and leaning back in his chair the bum proudly announced, "I'm Bob Marvin, pleased to meet you!" Then he crashed to the floor when the chair inched back too far.

Pulling his eyes from the bum—angel—trying to untangle his limbs from the chair and get off the floor, Dean stared at Sam. Then he pointed to the bum—angel. "Everyone else gets some guy with a glowing chest plate and shiny sword and we get _this_!"

Sam opened his mouth then bit his lip, shrugging. He felt slightly sick. They were all so going to Hell if Dean thought this was their guardian angel.

"You know, I'm getting some coffee to go. I think it's time we all go." Dean had one hand on Sam's back and one on the bum-who-thought-he-was-an-angel's back, nudging them both toward the door.

Sam huffed an irritable sigh when Dean stopped at the counter and nodded for Sam to keep going, shoving him out the door into the parking lot.

"Can I get one to go, darlin'?" the sound of Dean's voice followed him. Sam rounded on the man—bum—following him as soon as the diner door swung closed. "So, Astro-boy, you think you're an angel?" Sam crossed both arms over his chest and straightened his spine, hulking over the guy by a good six inches.

"It's Bob," the guy snorted. "What is it with you two and cartoon characters? Must be genetic." Reaching out he fingered the hem of Sam's shirt, "Nice shirt, where'd you get it?" He looked down at himself and chuckled. "As you can see, I'm in need of a better wardrobe."

Dean exited the diner and stood quietly a few feet away, sipping his coffee, gaze going from Sam to Bob and back again.

"So, you _think_ you're an angel and you've been talking to my brother, making him and me think he's nuts and hearing things?"

"Well, when you put it like that…"

Chewing on a cookie that he must have gotten with the coffee, Dean took another sip.

"The fact that my brother seems to act nuts once in a while is funny to you?" Sam took a step toward Bob, who backed up the same distance. "You followed us from the gas station, didn't you? What sort of con are you trying to pull?"

"No. Well kind of...follow you…I guess, technically."

"Wanna know what I think?" Sam's arms dropped to his sides, hands bunched to fists.

"Ah, Sammy, maybe that's not…" Dean took a step toward them.

Sam shrugged, "Okay, then." He turned away then swung back at the bum, fist coming up and connecting squarely with the man's jaw.

"Aww...geez." Dean stuck the rest of the cookie into his mouth and scratched at the side of his neck, eyes tracking Bob as he stumbled backwards fell, and slid a few feet along the ground. Ambling over, he grinned down at Bob. "I taught him that."

"Nice job." Bob pushed off the ground with both elbows.

"Dean what are you—?"

Bob brushed Dean's proffered hand away and with something that sounded like the flapping of wings was standing in front of Sam without Sam actually seeing him get off the ground…or move. The man who'd, a few minutes before, been at least a half foot shorter than Sam was now looking down at him and his feet weren't touching the ground.

"Sammy, he's really an angel."

"He's a _what_!?" Sam's voice shot straight through girly cracking and went right to panicked five-year-old. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've been telling you all across the country!" Dean shouted.

Backpedaling, Sam slid behind Dean. Turning to glance over his shoulder, his brother took a step to the side. "Oh, no, you're not hiding behind me. I'm not getting caught in a smiting crossfire."

Grabbing Dean's sleeve and trying to drag him back, Sam hissed, "Whatever happened to _protect_ _Sammy_?"

"That was before you decked an angel, dude." Dean stepped away again. "Maybe make nice."

"Oh, my God, I'm so…no, I mean I'm really, really sorry."

Bob settled his feet back onto the ground. "You got my shirt dirty. Now I have to change."

Moving to Bob's side, Dean brushed gravel and dust from him and grinned. "There, all better." Giving Bob a shove toward the motel, Dean grumbled, "It's not bad enough I have a pain in the ass little brother to take care of, now I have a fashion conscious, smart-mouthed angel too."

He turned and looked at Sam, waving two fingers, "Come on. The worst thing he's going to do to you is borrow a shirt." Shoving Bob again, Dean growled, "No scratching, dude. I'm serious about that or I'll show you a few more moves I taught him."

Sam followed somewhat reluctantly into the motel, closing the door softly behind him. "Look, I'm…I didn't think…why would I think or believe you're—"

"Sam, it's okay. I can't really fault a man who looks out for his brother, even if he is misguided." Bob rubbed his jaw and looked over at Dean, "You taught him that, huh?"

Dean sipped his coffee and nodded. Sam opened his mouth, thought better of it, choked back his words and smacked his lips shut.

"He always like this?" Bob's thumb jerked in Sam's direction, but he was still talking to Dean.

"Pretty much. Get used to it and deal." Dean leaned back against the dresser, gaze bouncing between Sam and Bob. "Sammy, meet Bob, our guardian angel. Maybe don't hit him again. Bob, Sam. I'm the only one who calls him Sammy and definitely don't ever hit him. Now, what do you want?"

"Why couldn't I see you before?" Sam skirted around Bob and sat on the bed nearest to where Dean stood.

Bob looked down, smug smile dropping off his face. "You and Dean are brothers. You share a genetic ability and you're every bit as important as he is."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Why could Dean hear and see you at first and not me?"

"I had to do some…shall we say tweaking. At first, it didn't work very well for Dean either. But in your case, it was a little more difficult because—"

"No." Dean's voice was pure warning; Sam recognized the change immediately. Pushing away from the dresser, he crossed the room and stood between Sam and Bob, staring Bob down.

"Dean," Sam reached out and put a hand on Dean's arm. "I want to hear what he says."

"Sam."

The tortured expression Dean wore told Sam pretty much what he needed to know, but he wanted to hear all the details. "Please?"

Wiping his hand over his face, Dean nodded and swallowed, but kept his position between Sam and the angel, as if his presence alone could shield Sam from any hurtful words.

"Normally, yes, both of you would be able to hear us and communicate and neither of you would create an almost physical irritant. I don't mean that to be an insult, simply a statement of fact. In your case, Sam, things were…changed. The entity you call Yellow Eyes, Azazel, he touched you. It's not your fault and—"

"You know what, I get it." Sam was up and moving, pacing around the room, trying and failing to ignore how his eyes stung. "I'm wrong, a freak, evil, and I shouldn't be here. I'm not helping and I should just—"

"Sit down and shut up!" Dean shouted, making Sam stop and stare at him. "You're not going anywhere." He turned to Bob. "I'm saying this one more time and it's the last time. Us, we, Sam and me, we're a package deal. You don't get me without him, got it?"

Sam walked silently to the bed and sat on one corner.

Bob nodded. "Sam, I tried explaining this to your brother, maybe you'll grasp the finer points. Azazel is responsible for you standing here right now, he brought you back after your very untimely death—but that's all."

"Isn't that an awful lot?" Sam choked out.

With a steady voice, Bob said, "No. In the grand scheme of things, no, not really. Just because someone is touched by an unwanted evil, it does not make them evil. What you choose to do with your life, it's your choice. You have just as much good as you do evil and what part you use, no one can decide that other than you, Sam."

"That's what Dean says." Sam mumbled, staring at the carpeting.

"He is correct. I wouldn't have taken the time or the trouble to work out how to communicate with you, too, if I thought you were something bad or unworthy. It's not that my brothers and sisters don't want to communicate with you also, they simply can not. At least not easily. We decided having one of us concentrate on you both made more sense. We can," Bob grinned, "get to know one another. And the others won't be wasting their time."

Sam tilted his head to one side, not sure if that was a positive or negative remark. "Huh?"

"You know what?" Dean moved to Bob's side, took his arm and started shoving him to the door. "Go away."

"Where?"

"I don't care. Wherever you go when you're not pestering me." Dean shoved Bob out the door and slammed it shut, turned and leaned against it. "You're not evil, so stop pouting."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot."

"But—"

"I know you, Sam. You've lived your entire life with me. If you were evil, I'd have known long before now." Wasn't that just like Dean, he said it was so, and therefore, it was. "And you get any stupid, stubborn-assed ideas that I'd be better off without you, well think again. Without you, I…I'm not doing this or anything without you. The great heavenly choir will have to cope." Crossing the room and closing the distance between them, Dean put a hand on either side of Sam's neck. "I mean it, Sam. There is no point in any of this for me without my brother."

Sam nodded. There wasn't anything more he could really do other than agree.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO**

"The name Seven Trumpets is significant because it's related to the seals and starting the Apocalypse." Sam sat in the passenger seat, back to the door, one leg crooked toward Dean. A file folder was laying open across his legs.

Dean glanced over. "How so?"

"There are twenty-one signs in all. The seals are simply the first seven. After the seventh seal is broken open, it releases seven trumpets. When the last one is blown, that heralds the opening of the seven bowls or vials. Each group is simply another facet of the Apocalypse."

"So, the fact a very famous icon of prophecy is running around a town named Seven Trumpets means what?"

"Maybe Mothman is more than what we think?"

Dean rubbed his forehead, "This crap gives me a headache. What's wrong with spirits and harpies and normal stuff like that?"

Laughing, Sam flipped the folder shut. "How much longer till we get there? I think once we can talk to people and do some actual investigating, we'll know more."

"Things never change…are we there yet?" Dean's voice shot up a few octaves. He immediately ducked away from the smack to his shoulder he knew was coming. Making Sam laugh was always a good thing. Even better, now that Sam was convinced—no thanks to that idiot Bob—he was some sort of half-breed, wacko, freak-show of an abomination who was, oh yeah, evil.

Sam, the kid who wouldn't hurt a fly to save his own life—evil—now that was truly laughable. Dean had meant what he'd said: no one was hurting his brother the way he'd been hurt in Cold Oak, not ever again. Anyone…_listening, Bob?_...who thought Sam wasn't important or didn't think he should be around Dean could take their wings and shove them hard where nothing shined and rotate a few times…_Got that, Bob_?

Apparently, Bob believed him, since Bob was being very absent and very quiet. Which suited Dean just fine.

"What parts do you want to play this time?" Sam's voice and the accompanying sharp-fingered jab yanked Dean out of his thoughts.

"Huh?"

Sam held up a handful of IDs like a spread of cards, grinning. "We can be reporters, medical students…naaaa that won't work here…or um, Federal Marshals, and hey there is always the old standby, FBI?"

"Maybe writing a book? And for shits and giggles, let's just be us this time."

"Us? Dean, seriously, _us_? I don't know if I know how to be us."

Nodding, Dean checked the map and veered off the highway, took a few turns and got onto another highway. "Yep, us. If we're being set up and _someone_ is waiting for us, heck, lets throw _someone_ off his game and do something unexpected, change up our style."

Settling back against the seat, Sam nodded. He sat quietly for a few minutes before turning to Dean and smiling, "I like it. Okay, let's just be us." Sam rooted around in the glove compartment. "Uh, Dean?"

"What?"

"We don't have any ID for us."

"No way? Really? Well, shit. Guess we'll have to make some when we get there."

Despite the lack of proper IDs when they rolled into the town of Seven Trumpets and stopped at a diner to eat and find a place to stay, Dean was surprised by the willingness of the people in the diner to be involved in a book written about Mothman by the brothers Winchester.

Before their food arrived, Dean asked the other patrons questions and Sam diligently took notes. They traded jobs after their meal, with Sam doing the investigating and Dean taking notes. Coaxing some drawings out of people was easier than it'd ever been. Apparently, these people were enjoying their notoriety.

Scrutinizing every corner of the place and every person in it, Dean saw no one even remotely resembling John Winchester. Maybe Mothman being here was the real deal.

Claudia, their waitress, was warm, chatty and knew far more about Mothman than any human probably should have. She also seemed to know most of the town's gossip as well as the best place for the brothers to stay and offered up coupons to boot. With a kiss to each of their cheeks, she sent them off with some extra slices of pie for a midnight snack.

When they arrived at the motel office Dean handed over the coupons and a credit card. He was surprised to be addressed as Dean. The boy behind the desk informed them Claudia had already called ahead and he handed over room key cards without really paying attention to the fact that Dean and his credit card had two different names. A quick glance back at Sam, who offered him a silly grin and a shrug, had Dean deciding this town wasn't such a bad place. Everyone seemed nice and friendly and this was so much _not_ what they were used to.

"I think they like us," Sam whispered as they left the office and headed back to their car.

"It's kinda creepy."

"I don't know," Sam jogged around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. "I sort of like it. This was a good idea, being us."

They drove the short distance to the back of one of the rows of rooms and parked a few spaces down from their door. Spending a few minutes carting their weapons' bags, laptop bag and duffels inside, they were finally settled in for the evening.

Dean carefully placed the containers of pie on the table between the beds. He settled himself in the middle of his bed, sitting cross-legged as he spread the drawings a few people at the diner had done for them in an arc in front of him. A forkful of pie slid into his mouth, Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

"Do you want to be alone with it?"

Opening his eyes and looking up, Dean grinned at his brother. "Yours is right there," he waved at the other container on the table. "It's awesome."

"Hmm." Sam held out a mug with steam curling out and into the air making Dean sniff. "I thought you'd like this too."

Taking the mug, Dean gave that an appreciative sigh.

"You know," Sam snickered, "the pie might get jealous that you're cheating on it."

"Whatever." Dean nodded at some of the drawings. "I see a definite pattern here."

"Yeah, me too." Sam sat on the edge of his bed, setting his own mug of coffee on the table as he held out a small piece of paper to Dean. "Sign."

"Sammy, for a guy who was always so against hustling and credit card fraud, you sure do make a good fake ID."

Sam grinned and shrugged. "Technically, they're not fake, since those are our real names."

"Uh huh." Dean scribbled his signature and handed it back to Sam, who attached a picture and ran Dean's new driver's license through a small laminating machine before flipping it back to him. The way Sam sat watching him made Dean realize he should take a closer look at the new ID. Nodding, he turned to Sam as he placed the ID on the table near his wallet. "Impala, South Dakota. Nice touch."

Sam looked down and shrugged again, shy smile spreading over his face along with a flush of pink in his cheeks. "It seemed like a good idea. That car is more like home to me than anywhere else."

"Hey," Dean leaned over and slapped his fingers along Sam's knee. "I like it." He wanted to ease Sam's obvious embarrassment and let the kid know Dean agreed and that Sam had no reason to be self-conscious.

"We, um, need to get cracking on this." Sam turned away and swung his legs up onto his bed, gaze shifting from Dean's shoulder to the papers Dean had spread out to his own notes resting on his bed. "Most of the people told us the same story. They'd see this dark figure that looked like a giant moth and it would vanish right in front of their eyes. It didn't talk or really move much, just stood there."

"We've got a dozen or more drawings here." Dean turned a few of them so Sam could see more easily. "Remind you of anything?"

"My nursery."

"Huh?"

"When Yellow Eyes took me back and showed me what happened that night…I remember seeing a dark figure standing over my crib. And remember Rosie? I saw the same thing in her room. Him, a dark shape, standing there, it looked like those drawings and the descriptions." Sam chuckled, a soft nervous sound that wasn't anything associated with amusement in any way. He rubbed one hand over the back of his head a few times. "I didn't really remember that until today when we were talking to people."

When Sam reached for one of the drawings, Dean leaned over the bed, holding it out to him. He sat silently, watching Sam gaze down at the pencil drawing in his hand. "Some said the eyes were yellow, others red, a few said black," Dean said quietly.

"Yeah." Sam handed the paper back. "Thing is, though, legend has it Mothman is a precursor to some huge disaster. A forewarning."

"So, how would that benefit a demon?" Dean bounced his pen off his bent leg for a minute, thinking over his own question. "I don't see any point."

"Which means there's a reason we're not seeing, something we don't know about, or they are two different beings."

"Then why the physical similarities?" Dean held out one hand to Sam. "Want more coffee? Eat your pie."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam handed his mug off to Dean and pulled the container of pie onto his lap, digging in.

Dean poured them each a fresh mug of coffee from the small coffee maker and headed back to the beds, setting Sam's drink on the table between them. He leaned over and to pick up another of the drawings and stood studying it while sipping his brew. "You know, maybe—" Dean turned toward Sam and flung his coffee in the air, jumping back. "Holy crap! Dude, don't every do that!"

Sam instinctively looked up and then ducked away from the flying coffee. Fortunately, most of the coffee didn't hit Sam's face, but splashed across Bob's chest.

Bob stood blinking at Dean for a few seconds before he looked down at his now coffee-covered shirt. He inhaled deeply and exhaled a longsuffering sigh as he wiped the hot, brown liquid out of his eyes and off his face. Then he flicked at some drops beading along one side of his shirt. "I'm going to need a clothing allowance if I have to keep hanging around you two."

"You can go hang around somewhere else," Dean snapped. "And maybe don't just appear like that. Have you ever heard of _knocking_? I mean, what if Sam wasn't decent?"

"Why should I knock if I can save you the trouble of opening the door?" Bob twisted his upper half around to look at Sam. "Are you no longer the same person?"

"No, I meant…" Dean shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Never mind." Grabbing Bob's arm, Dean dragged him to the door, opened it and shoved him out. "Practice knocking."

The door was slammed shut on Bob's opening mouth.

A minute later, the sound of knuckles against wood rattled the motel door.

"Who is it?" Dean chirped, grinning. Sam covered his mouth with one hand and dipped his head. His shoulders shook so hard it made Dean snicker even more, watching Sam trying to keep quiet.

Bob appeared in front of Dean. "You already know who it is. Is this some sort of bonding exercise?"

Dean jumped. Sam doubled over and roared with laughter.

"You were supposed to wait for me to open the door."

"You're odd." Bob walked through the room, stopped in the middle and looked down at Sam, jerking one thumb back over his shoulder, "Is he always this odd?" Bob's other hand absently scratched at his neck then arm.

Sam snorted and tipped sideways on the bed, nodding. "It's my brother's best quality. Live with it."

Bob's eyebrows pulled together and he heaved a deep sigh when Sam's laughter dissolved into hiccups. He turned back to Dean while pointing to Sam, he asked, "Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine. What do you want?"

"A clean shirt might be nice."

Sam giggled like a three year old hyped up on sugar and Dean growled.

Bob shrugged, "I guess that can wait. You have sorted out that business about the souls and how the storm was manipulated, yes? Sam has learned how to control those abilities?"

Dean groaned. Sam went completely quiet and turned a curious look on him, and Dean felt his shoulders sag. There was no anger or accusation in Sam's eyes; there was, however, massive amounts of hurt and betrayal. He should have told Sam right away, but instead he'd taken the coward's way out and avoided the subject, in the process deeply hurting his brother's feelings. All these weeks of striving to make Sam believe Dean trusted him—as if he would ever not trust Sam—and now his brother was right back to feeling in the way, a burden and untrustworthy.

"Sam—"

"What's he talking about?"

"He's making it sound worse—"

Sam was off the bed in a flash, hands clenched into fists, eyes pleading in typical Sam fashion. The kid couldn't decide if he was hurt or angry and, generally, the two combined into some other thing all together. "What is he talking about?" Sam's voice deepened and grew louder.

"Oh." Bob took a step away and cleared his throat. "You didn't tell him. So that would be a no, you don't have any answers or control?"

"Shut up!" Both brothers turned to Bob and shouted at the same time.

Bob puffed a sigh. "You're both odd." He wandered to a chair and sat watching Dean and Sam.

"Tell me."

"Sammy…there wasn't…"

"Dean, please. Or don't you trust me?"

Low blow. "You know that's not true. You know that was _never_ true. Quit with that crap." Dean could get just as pissy as Sam when he wanted to.

That backed Sam down a bit and turned eyes flashing with irritation to liquid. "I need to know." This time Sam's voice was soft and almost desperate.

Dean turned to Bob, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, I'll wait."

"Out." Dean snapped. Bob huffed but vanished. "Look, Sam, all I know is what he—Bob—told me. I didn't have proof and I didn't want to tell you things that maybe weren't true. He said he kept you unconscious because of where we were. The land was sacred burial grounds—"

"Yeah, I know, remember?"

Dean sighed and looked down at his feet for a few seconds, screwing up his courage. "He…Bob, he said that was because there were souls from those buried in the area. I could hear," he looked up at Sam and waved one finger around his ear, "their voices. Not exactly voices, but I could hear them. It was like how I heard Bob before he could do whatever it is he does now with the walking and talking. Anyway, there was that storm and it was somehow caused by the souls and you, or you were making it worse. I'm not sure really. Bob said if you'd been awake the storm would have killed us."

"You mean like come after _us_, specifically?"

"I think so. I'm not sure, but either way, we would have died in that storm. Bob seems to have the misconception you might be able to harness that or know how to use it, some power that way. Actually, I'm not really sure what he thinks and I'm pretty sure I don't care."

"You couldn't just tell me this?"

"Sammy, honestly, I didn't know what to tell you or how."

Sam sank onto the bed, "I guess I wouldn't want to tell my brother he's some sort of freak monster a demon created either."

"Sammy, that's not true, you know it isn't and you know I don't think that."

"No? Why not?" Sam had gone from angry and hurt to completely devastated in a matter of seconds. Dean wished Bob was alive so he could kill him. "I wish I'd stayed dead. The whole world would have been better off without monsters like me."

"I don't wish that and I wouldn't be better off. And you kill the monsters, you're not one. Not by a long shot," Dean said quietly. Yep, _Bob was a dead man…angel…whatever_. Dean simply had to figure out how to kill him. "Did you ever stop to consider, even for a minute, that maybe demons had nothing to do with this and you were born with these abilities?"

Sam looked up, "Dean that's—"

"Absolutely correct." Bob reappeared, this time over near the bathroom.

"This is your fault," Dean spat at Bob.

"You can hit me if it'll make you feel better." Bob scrunched his eyes shut and turned his face to one side.

Grumbling, "That takes all the fun out of it." Dean dropped onto his bed.

"Your brother is right, Sam. Demons don't make things, not in that manner. They take what is there already and try to manipulate and control. That control comes by fear and intimidation and self-doubt. Whatever ability you have, you'd have even if demons didn't exist. Yes, one came to you and touched you and it is evil, but that doesn't make you evil. You being evil would be you choosing to cause harm with those abilities. Evil is a demon taking advantage of a nice kid who doesn't understand what's inside of him."

Okay, so maybe Dean would let Bob live…for now.

"Sammy, I can't control what other people might think, but I don't think that way about you and I never have."

Sam looked up, nodded once, and returned his attention to the bedspread, fingers picking at some loose threads. Sighing, Dean scooted off his own bed and sat on Sam's with him, nudging his brother's arm with one elbow. "C'mon, Sammy…Mothman…big case…ignore the crazy man in the corner."

"Maybe I can find more online," Sam said softly. However, he stayed where he was, as did the closed, powered down laptop on the table across the room.

"Ya know," Dean was off the bed and across the room before Sam or Bob could so much as blink. "I've had it and maybe I will take you up on that punch."

Bob sort of squeaked when Dean's hands fisted his shirt collar. Sam sprinted after him, grabbing Dean's arms.

"You can't hit him, he's an _angel_."

"Didn't stop you," Dean reminded his brother.

"I didn't know."

"I distinctly remember mentioning it." Bob sounded rather smug.

Sam let go of Dean's arm and leaned away, crossing both arms over his chest. "Hit him."

Dean grinned, nodded and cranked back one arm. Bob vanished. Both brothers spun on their heels to find the angel standing near the door.

He punched the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. "Now that's what I like to see, you two, a team. We need both of you. Frankly, I can't wait to open up a few-thousand-year-old can of whoop ass and show these demons who's in charge."

Bob grinned like a lunatic and shook himself like a wet dog, while Sam gasped in a sharp breath and belly-slammed the floor with a rough grunt.

"Crap." Dean dove on top of his brother and covered both their heads when TV, lamps, bed sheets, coffee mugs and most everything loose in the room was sent flying by the sparkling, opalescence, blue tinged, wings that appeared and flapped through the small space.

Dean peered over the bed and Sam rolled closer to the bathroom, picked up a lamp and set it back on a table.

"Oh, my, that didn't work out as planned." Bob looked around the trashed room.

"Ya think?" Dean threw pillows, sheets and blankets back onto the beds.

"Maybe don't ever do that in public…or again." Sam righted the two chairs and the small stand that had held a coffee maker. He swept the remains of the coffee maker into a waste bucket and stood looking down sadly. "Winchesters, two…coffee makers, zero." Turning away, he helped Dean arrange the mattresses on the frames and replace their sheets.

Backing toward the door, Bob mumbled, "I'll…uh just be…um…leaving you two…angel business, you understand." When his back connected with the door, he reached behind him and fumbled with the handle, getting it open far enough so he could slide out of the room.

Crossing to the door, Dean slammed it shut and locked it. "Now he uses the door." Scooping clothes and odds and ends off the floor and depositing them on the table and dresser, Dean made a beeline for his bed and flopped down. "Sam, as annoying as he is, he is right you know, about the demons and your abilities." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the storm and everything sooner. No matter what, I'm not doing this or anything without you."

Sam nodded, crawled onto his bed and plumped the pillows. "I'm kinda tired."

"Sammy…"

"It's okay, Dean, it is. I get it."

"Yeah, okay, get some rest." Dean pushed back until he was settled against the headboard, flicking through stations.

He spent some time reorganizing their notes and dropped them on the table between the beds.

There was nothing decent on TV other than local news stories about Mothman. A glance at Sam, told Dean he was asleep and hopefully down for the night. The kid would feel better in the morning. At least that was Dean's hope. If not, there was always plan B—kill Bob.

It wasn't fair. Sam was so young and he had to deal with this crap. Bob was right: it was how the power was used that made someone evil, not the power itself. Evil was some hell spawn using an innocent, helpless baby—no, scratch that, many babies—in an attempt to do or create something. That was evil. Not his brother who wanted to stop that from happening to others and stop the evil lurking on the periphery of their world.

The heat in their room wasn't the best; the baseboard radiators rattled and blew mostly lukewarm air rather than hot. Sam rolled over a few times, twisting this way and that, shivering slightly. Grumbling, Dean grabbed his keys and jogged outside to the Impala. He dug two sleeping bags out of the trunk and ran back into their room. Unzipping them so they were completely opened, Dean tossed one over Sam and took the other for himself.

Maybe if he was warmer, Sam would stop his mumbling, lay still and get a deeper sleep.

Finally creating a nice, warm bubble, Dean grinned when he found something watch-worthy on the TV. "_We're receiving a distress signal from the Kobayashi Maru, Captain." _

Dean chuckled, "Eh, lady, my man Kirk beat that test." He thought about waking up Sam who loved all the Star Trek movies, but this one was one of his favorites.

Sam rolled around, voice going from mumbles to something more panicked. Lights and sirens blared out of the TV, but Dean could still hear his brother clearly. When Sam's voice rose even more, his twisting became thrashing, entire body shaking, Dean sighed and threw back his covers. Moving between the beds, Dean eased down beside Sam. "Okay, kiddo, enough, and don't think you're not telling me about this when you wake up." Dean reached out and laid one hand on Sam's shoulder. "Nothing—"

Power surged through Dean, starting at the very tips of his fingers. It wasn't so much a hard jolt as a steady coursing of electricity making its way up his arm and through his body. The motel room dissolved away and Dean at once recognized he was inside a dream. This time, however, it wasn't his nightmare world Sam was drawn into. This time it was him being sucked into Sam's.

They were somewhere Dean couldn't place, some room or building they'd been in at one time, or maybe this was Sam's apartment or dorm room at Stanford, Dean wasn't sure. It was a nondescript room, though not a motel room. Something murky and dense swirled, making it so Dean could never properly focus on any one thing. He looked around, sure Sam was close by.

"Dean."

The sound of Sam's voice made Dean turn again. "Sammy."

"Where are we?"

"I don't know, Sam, it's your dream this time. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?"

Sam shook his head and stared, wide-eyed at Dean. "It's happening again. I don't know how or why."

"Maybe I can help," a gruff voice said. At first Dean thought it was their father, but there was something slightly off about it, as if it was John's voice combined with something else, overlayed by what sounded like Azazel.

He squinted at it and took a step closer, leaning to the side so he was firmly between whatever it was and Sam. "Who are you?"

The figure made a movement that reminded Dean of the flutter of wings, but he saw no actual wings. The way the creature's shoulders sat and its general shape gave the impression of a giant bird…or insect…or moth with wings folded over its back. "I can be whoever you need me to be."

For an instant, Dean swore that was the silhouette of his father, but the voice sounded more like Azazel.

When two yellow circles glowed to life where eyes should be, flashing for a few seconds before fading into the murky depths of the figure, Dean knew Sam saw it as well. His brother stepped close enough that Dean felt his breath against the back of his neck and Sam's presence pressed to his shoulder. Fingers twined in Dean's sleeve and tugged him back a step.

"We need Sam." The thing cocked its head to one side and laughed. "More exactly, we need all of Sam's glorious power and we'll have it, too."

"I don't think so," Dean snarled. Putting one hand behind him, he firmly shoved Sam back. "Sam's not evil."

The figure threw its head back and roared with deep, booming laughter. "Who cares! Good…evil…tomato…tomaaatoe…not something to worry about." Another flutter of wings. "Though, being evil certainly has its purpose and would make things easier. It's hardly a necessity, however."

One arm rising above its head, the figure flicked something at them.

They both ducked when gold coins rained down on their heads. As the coins bounced off their bare arms, Dean heard the sizzle of burning flesh and for a second caught the smell of singed hair.

"The seals you seek. One coin for each." The figure fluttered and seemed to double in size.

"Sam, we need to go. _Now_," Dean hissed, backing away even more.

In the next instant, the figure was gone and Dean was landing hard on his ass on the floor between the beds. The second his brain registered he was awake, he got his feet under him and was up and moving. "Sam!"

"I'm okay." Sam was sitting at the end of the bed, holding his head in both hands. "That thing said each of these represents a seal?" He reached down and picked up one of the coins, yelping and dropping it. "It burns. I can't touch them, they burn me. The seals represent something from Heaven, something good, and this proves I'm evil." He stuck his finger in his mouth and sat looking at Dean with wide, horrified eyes.

"That makes no sense." Reaching down, Dean grabbed up a few of the coins. Some were tarnished and cracked, others bright and shiny. All of them were hot. "Holy shit!" Shaking his hand up and down, he sent the handful of coins he'd gathered sailing in all directions. "They burned your finger because those suckers are molten, not because of anything to do with you."

"But—"

"But, nothing." Dean didn't mean to snap, but his hand hurt and Sam and his _I'm evil_ crap were simply getting on his last, frayed nerve. Stepping over the spot of floor covered with the coins, he went into the bathroom. He ran a towel under cold water and a smaller washcloth was given the same treatment.

Back out to the main part of the room, he dropped the washcloth onto Sam's lap. "Here, put that on your fingers." Then he grabbed a travel brochure off the nightstand and used that to shovel the coins onto the wet towel. Steam rose and moisture on the towel popped and cracked. "Apparently this is one evv—oool towel."

Sam wrapped his singed fingers in the washcloth and looked at Dean, eyebrows knitted but it didn't last. His lips worked up into a small smile and he nodded. "Not me?"

"Not you."

Dean was happy when he saw soft doe-eyes look at him from under long bangs, the tension drop away from Sam's shoulders and the smile get the tiniest bit bigger.

He sat on the bed staring down at the pile of coins sitting quite innocently on the damp towel. They were gold. Some had pictures on the, others Roman numerals. Reaching out and giving one end of the towel a quick flick, some of the coins bounced around and flipped over. Sam moved from where he was to sit beside Dean, gazing down at the coins too. Each of the coins had a number on one side and a picture on the other.

Leaning down, Dean poked at the coins. They were cooler. Most of the coins were bright and shiny. A few were a duller, darker color and two had cracks through them.

"Maybe those are broken seals?" Sam pointed to one of the cracked seals.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

Sam slid off the bed and to his knees on the floor next to the towel. Cautiously he poked at one coin, flinching away almost immediately, then touching it for real.

"Well?" Dean asked.

"Nothing." Sam sat back on his heels and sighed. "We have something solid and tangible to track now."

Dean nodded again, folded both hands together, elbows bent and on his thighs, chin resting against this hands. "But why give us these?"

Sam's only response was a perplexed gaze and a slight shrug of his shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

**PART THREE**

Sam stopped and held the door to the diner open for a woman herding a couple of small children in front of her. He smiled and nodded. Just as one of the kids got to the door, Sam darted forward, grabbing the kid as he fell and stopping him from hitting the cold concrete.

The woman smiled at him gratefully. "What do you say to the nice man for helping you?"

The little boy mumbled a thank you. At least that's what Sam thought it was. It was difficult to tell with the boy talking more to his coat sleeve than Sam.

"You're welcome. Be careful." He leaned against the door to wait for Dean. His brother had been waylaid between the car and the diner entrance by a few people wanting to give him updates for their 'book'. It seemed that, overnight, Dean with his charming smile and outgoing personality had become a local celebrity.

Dean stopped beside Sam and eyed him up and down before his gaze shifted to follow the woman and children. He didn't have to say a word for Sam to know the same thoughts were going through Dean's head as were going through Sam's. All morning, since they'd gotten up, Sam knew things before they happened. How Dean was about to drop his razor and a man in the parking lot nearly clunked his head on his opened trunk. There was the car in front of them that signaled to turn left and turned right instead, cutting them off and nearly causing a collision, one that was avoided by Sam's warning to Dean.

"These people are really getting into this stuff." Dean walked past Sam and into the diner nodding to Claudia and a few others, as he led the way through to a quiet booth near the back.

"I'd say do you blame them, a little town getting national notoriety, but considering what this could mean…" Sam's voice trailed off when Claudia appeared, chattering about the breakfast special and freshly brewed coffee. Sam clamped his lips closed on the comment wanting out about not letting him or Dean near the coffee maker. He smiled weakly when he lurched forward and grabbed her arm as she slipped, stopping her fall.

"Oh, whew, thank you!" She didn't seem to notice Sam had grabbed her _before_ her foot had skated over the tile floor.

"Thanks, darling." Dean smiled at Claudia's offer of coffee. Dean did love his coffee. "There were three more sightings this morning." He rubbed his forehead. "What do we know?"

"Are we going to talk about this?"

Dean looked up. "About what? That you suddenly see things before they happen, but they're not visions? Dude, I'm still adjusting to the visions."

"Dean, this isn't funny."

"Don't you think I get that? It's a bit…unsettling…but it's been nothing but useful. No weird demons and no one has died. Roll with it."

"What if this is some demon thing taking me over?"

Dean sighed and grabbed the salt container, slamming it down in front of Sam. "Eat some."

"What?"

"Salt stops a demon, right?" Dean dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask, tossing it to Sam. "Wash it down with some holy water."

"Are you—"

"Now." Dean's voice was low, commanding and on edge. It was that scary voice he used on uncooperative spirits and monsters. It was the tone Sam never liked being used on him. It also elicited immediate results.

Sam shook some of the salt into his hand, half expecting it to burn and smoke. He threw the salt down his throat and gulped down a healthy holy water chaser. He sat completely still for a few seconds, moving only his eyes to look around. "Nothing."

"You sure, not even a twinge?"

"No." Sam said softly.

"Huh, imagine that. Nothing demonic in you. Can we stop with this bullshit now and solve our case? Maybe find out something useful about seals and the Apocalypse? I know you're scared, Sam, about these abilities…they freak me out too…but we're not going to let them rule us."

"But the thing in my dream?"

"Was pretty clear to me. It said they wanted control over you, not that you were evil. In fact, the thing implied the opposite. It never said your power comes from demons, but that they want that power. Dad…John said you'd either get in line or else. He wants control, they want control, and I think they're mistakenly thinking they can use me to get that control. They probably think I'll do whatever I'm told and convince you to do the same. Which makes me think they need you for something they can't do themselves."

"That's a lot of thinking."

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved against Sam's shin with his toe.

"They get one of us, they get us both. I think they know that, especially now."

"Yep. They're not getting either, Sammy, not while I'm breathing."

Sam nodded and dropped his gaze to the tabletop, wiping a bit of moisture from the corners of his eyes. It took him a minute to get himself together again. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. "Shouldn't we be working on those coins and the seals?"

"After what I saw last night in your dream, I think we are." Dean held up one of the drawings. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't think that thing in your dream doesn't look a helluva lot like this."

"Yes, it does, but that doesn't mean anything. We'd been talking about Mothman all day. I probably had it on the brain and that's what my mind came up with."

"I don't know, Sam, that thing seemed pretty lucid and self-aware to me. You told me that's how Azazel communicated to you in Cold Oak—while you were asleep, as a dream. I think the difference is now we get to share. This is a weird thing you can do, or maybe it's me that's doing it, but either way, it's useful and we need to pay attention."

"Are you saying I've got this for a reason?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, Sammy, I really don't. I'm not even convinced it's just you and not me, or not us both. What I am saying is let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. It's something that gives us some information this time, so we can go in together and back each other up. Together is always better than alone."

Sam had to agree there. "What if it wasn't me or you, but something else forcing us into my dream together?"

"I don't know how we can know either way. The Nachtalb might have enhanced the experience, maybe it triggered something always there. John did show up to each of us while we slept, but it's happening too often to not be connected to one of us."

That eased some of Sam's runaway fears and ideas. He also knew that the second he'd sensed Dean enter his dream he'd felt better. He'd never denied he and Dean were far stronger together than apart. Neither of them did well apart. "If there is some huge disaster coming, we need to warn these people, clear out the town."

"Warn them against what? How do we explain how we know? It's going to be useless to warn against something that might happen if we have no clue what that something is. I mean we do have a nice list to pick from. There are a few good-sized buildings that could come down. That pretty mountain volcano that's been dormant for a few thousand years could blow. There is always my personal favorite and great stand-by, the comet could hit. Oh, and I think there's a few rabid dogs in the county kennel that could get loose and ravage the town."

"This is serious, Dean."

"I know. But, let's face it, no one will listen unless we can give them solid proof and specifics. So, let's get this mess sorted out. What do we know about Mothman?"

Flipping open a folder, Sam pushed it to the side when Claudia came back with their food.

"I'll leave you boys to your work of putting this town on the map."

"You'll get an autographed copy and be sure to read the acknowledgements section." Dean winked and smiled at her while stabbing his fork into the mound of scrambled eggs she sat in front of him. Claudia offered them a brilliant smil and headed off to see to other customers.

Sam spread jam over his toast and spent a minute munching on it while reading through his notes. "There have been reports of this same creature, dubbed Mothman in the sixties, dating back to pre-colony American Indian tribes in the Ohio River Valley. The most famous is Point Pleasant on the West Virginia side of the Ohio River."

"The Silver Bridge?"

Nodding, Sam continued. "Exactly. On December 15, 1967 key bar number thirteen snapped."

"What's a key bar?"

"Something that holds up a bridge I guess. It snapped and that's why the bridge collapsed. The sightings started in Point Pleasant, West Virginia and Gallipolis, Ohio, the town on the other side of the bridge, on November 15, 1966, exactly thirteen months to the day before the bridge went down. The woman who followed the story and was the main reporter in the area to do so died February 15, 1970…exactly twenty-six months after the bridge collapse."

"Thirteen times two." Dean finished off the eggs and had moved onto his hash browns, slurping up orange juice and coffee between bites. "Heck of a coincidence."

"I thought you didn't believe in coincidence."

"I don't. What else do we know?"

"There were theories the Mothman was a few different types of birds and in Ohio, there were reports of it flying after cars traveling pretty fast, shrieking and either vanishing into thin air or flying away. Some people believe Mothman prophesized the bridge disaster. Others think it was the cause of it." Sam poured syrup over his pancakes, swirled bacon around in the goo and popped a huge forkful into his mouth.

"We're in Washington, an entire continent away from the Ohio River Valley. So far, our Mothman stands silently and doesn't fly, it's there one minute and gone the next. I think either way we can safely say this thing is around to tell someone something."

Sam nodded as he chewed.

Laying a few of the drawings across the table between them, Dean tapped against the paper. "Remind you of anyone we know?"

"Reminds me of a few people we know."

"What are our options? We have a demon here that is going to cause some huge disaster…for what gains?"

Shrugging, Sam stirred cream and sugar into his coffee and sipped it, appreciating the taste and aroma. "Why do demons do a lot of things? Because they can."

"Good point. Or, we have an angel or some other type of spirit trying to issue a warning."

"Well, you know, there are answers all over the place." Bob materialized in the seat beside Sam, making him jump.

"Stop that." Dean snarled.

"There was nothing for me to knock on." Bob looked from one to the other. He grabbed one of the books Sam had brought along out of his carryall. "Prophecy and foresight," he looked over the rim of the book at Sam for a minute before his gaze slid to Dean. "They are gifts, tools to be used and the key to everything, including the Apocalypse. Lots of things have a lot to do with lots of other things."

The space next to Sam Bob occupied a second before was now empty.

"What does—" Dean jerked around in his booth then swung his upper half under the table, popping up a second later to slam his hand on the table. "Damnit. He needs to stop that."

Sam had to smile. Dean was right; Bob's tendency to show up, spew some angelic cryptic crap at them and then melt into thin air was annoying at best. "It is somewhat rude."

"Rude? It's infuriating." Dean looked at his watch and frowned. "Sam, what was the first day the Mothman sightings were reported here?"

"Um…" Sam rifled through the file for a few seconds, "Here it is. October seventeenth last year. Why?"

"Tomorrow is the seventeenth."

Meeting his brother's gaze Sam let that bit of information sink in. "Thirteen months to the day."

"Whatever is going to happen, _if_ something is going to happen, happens tomorrow."

By the time afternoon rolled around, they'd returned to their room, no closer to answers about a possible disaster, a way to warn the town, new information on the seals or answers about prophecies than they'd been since they'd arrived.

Sam fell on to his bed. What he did have was a massive headache from a string of minor incidents he'd foreseen. The fact that he was suddenly seeing things before they happened in a town rich in an icon of prophecy didn't escape Sam. He was fairly sure Dean saw the significance too, even if he hadn't come out and said the words, Sam saw it in his brother's face. There was no coincidence, not when they were involved. They'd arrived in a town harboring Mothman, possibly facing disaster and Sam's new ability picked now to rear its head. No way that was a coincidence.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to grasp answers that simply eluded him. The sounds of water hitting the shower wall drifted from the bathroom, as did Dean's deep singing voice. Those were soothing sounds to Sam. He'd rest for a little while and when Dean got out of the shower, he'd get one too, fill up on caffeine and get back at the research.

-o-

Dean padded quietly out of the bathroom toweling his hair. Tossing his towel across the back of a chair, he glanced at Sam. His brother was sound asleep. They had more work to do, but Dean figured he couldn't afford to have a tired, strung-out partner. He'd let Sam sleep for a bit and wake him up in a few hours. It would do the kid some good. A rested Sam was always a more productive Sam. There was no reason they couldn't tag team on the research and sleep for a few hours.

The serious doubts Dean had about them finding anything or saving this town—if it in fact needed saving—were growing by leaps and bounds.

He settled at the small table near the window and silently cursed for the zillionth time Bob and his stupid cryptic, angel-code hints.

His entire body jerked when his ears vibrated with a muffled shout. "Ow." Turning his head to one side, Dean cracked his neck. He'd fallen asleep on the table; he had to stop doing that.

Another sound, this one was more like a scream, as it came out of Sam's mouth. His back arched and his arms and legs flailed as if he were fighting someone…or something.

Dean didn't give much thought to any consequences, but simply reacted. He was always instinct first with Sam and he'd never really planned on changing that habit. He shoved away from the chair and crossed the room, leaned down and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. His jaw clenched tight and every muscle in him jumped and jerked with powerful spasms. Mentally, he was braced for the electric shock soon to roll though him, but it did no good. The thought of what was to come was nothing like what actually did hit him. He had to press his other hand to his mouth and bite down to keep from screaming as his body ignited and sparks surged through him.

In a flash of white, Dean's vision evaporated for a few seconds. Blinking until it cleared and he could see again, Dean found himself crouched on the ground in a fog. As the jarring of his nerves and senses settled, he slowly stood to his full height and looked around.

It was in here with him. Dean could sense it as easily as he knew where his hands and feet were...Sam's presence, even though Dean couldn't see him yet, was almost overpowering. Something was wrong, Dean knew that at once. Sam was frightened; no, not frightened, terrified, but there was no focus to his fear. It floated around Dean as part of the fog, all encompassing, everywhere.

Shivering, Dean rubbed his arms and started walking. Sam was here and close. The feeling of his brother's presence grew and somehow Dean's steps were guided to where he needed to be in a bizarre version of Marco-Polo.

No more than a few seconds passed before Dean was rewarded. He clearly understood Sam's fear and a strong horror of his own filled him at the sight before him.

Sam was on hands and knees, the dark figure from his previous night's dream looming over him; a voice reverberated across the fog. As before, Dean couldn't tell if it was John's voice or Yellow Eyes' or some combination. Something bright shot out from the figure and struck Sam full on. Sam screamed. His arms gave out and folded, leaving him gasping for breath with his forehead pressed to the backs of his hands.

"You will do what you're told. I will control your brother and he you. I know you two think you have a plan, and you will tell me!" The figure's voice was overlaid with a scratchy, screeching quality that was similar to the static Dean had been hearing in his head.

Racing forward, Dean grabbed Sam around the chest and pulled him up.

"You'll never control Dean. He'll never listen to you." Sam leaned into Dean's hold and raised his head, glaring at the figure.

"This piddley little town, you can't save it. This town is a warning to all your pathetic humanity. Too bad none of you will heed the warning and this world will eventually suffer the same fate. It was meant to be." The figure moved, stalking to one side then the other. It pointed at Sam, "You will do as you're ordered or else."

Sam shook his head viciously, "No."

"Sam." Dean tightened his grip, but it was too late. The figure held one long arm out in front of itself and a shock wave hit Dean, throwing him away from his brother.

Landing between the beds and ramming his back against the metal frame woke Dean up in a hurry. Sam flipped over on his bed, sweat matting his bangs and he was gagging as if trying to vomit, but he was still deeply asleep.

"Oh no, you did not." Scrambling on hands and knees, Dean threw himself at Sam's bed and latched onto his brother's forearm with both hands, fingers clamping so tightly they went white.

A curtain of pain washed over Dean, covering his body in waves of prickly sensations for a few seconds before he was next to Sam once again.

While the figure never actually turned its head, Dean felt when its attention focused on him. "And you…the perfect soldier, you'd do best to obey your orders and play your part." A blue-white flame coursed out from the figure and wrapped around them like bizarre fingers. Sam collapsed against Dean, screaming as the figure shouted over and over, "Obey!"

Blocking out as much as he could of the horrible noises, Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him as hard as he could. "Sam! Sammy!"

With a harsh gasp, Sam bolted upright in the bed. He reached out and at once latched onto Dean's shirt, hands yanking one way then the other. Dean ignored the rip of material and shook Sam again. "You're awake. Stop. It's over."

Another shake, more violent than he'd intended, and Sam turned a wide-eyed gaze on him, choking out, "D-dean?"

Hands going to either side of Sam's head, Dean made his brother look at him. "Yeah, it's me. You're awake. It's gone."

Sam gulped in a few breaths before leaning back and pulling away from Dean. "Give me room. I'm okay." He scooted back on the bed until he was at the far side and swung his legs over, standing up. Running his hands through his hair a few times, Sam looked around the room. He shook where he stood and didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.

"Sammy, take easy." Dean sat still and tried to placate his freaked-out brother. Dean clearly sensed he'd missed something important when he wasn't in there with Sam. Maybe it was some kind of after affect of dream-walking with his kid brother and a few demons.

Sam whirled around, bits of spittle sprayed from one corner of his mouth, his bangs and hair falling in odd, sharp points around his face and his eyes narrowed. He looked like a mad-man. "Take it easy? TAKE IT EASY?"

"Sam, I just meant—"

"My father is a goddamn demon. He's not acting. He's not pretending. He's a freaking demon. The best part?" Sam giggled, it was high-pitched and stuttered through his words. "He wants my head, my bloody head on a platter. And you know what? I think he's determined enough that he just might get it, too. So don't _you_ tell _me_ to _take it easy_."

Dean was on his feet and moving in a flash. Gripping both of Sam's arms hard, he propelled them backwards until Sam connected with the wall. "Stop it! Being like this is leaving you open to attack and giving them ammo against us."

Sam looked at him for a few seconds before he seemed to fold up into himself. "I…my whole life I never once thought I measured up for that man…and I _tried_. Dean I tried so hard."

"Sammy, that's not true and you know it."

Hands coming up and fisting in the remains of Dean's shirt, Sam gripped so hard Dean felt how he shook. "Yes, it is. I was never the good son, the good soldier; I never obeyed enough. That's what I was hearing over and over when you weren't there with me. Now, my only purpose to him is to be killed. Dean, he wants to kill me, I know it. I can feel it." Sam's words were coming out in such a rush Dean was having a hard time keeping track. "Once, when I was little, I overheard Dad. He was drunk, I think. God I hope he was…he had a picture of him and Mom and he was talking to it, telling her if I hadn't been around she'd be alive."

"Sam, he never thought that. Maybe that was planted while you were dreaming somehow."

"How many times have we heard that he wants you as a willing soldier and I'll fall in line or else? Was that planted?"

"It's not going to happen, Sam." Dean let go of his brother and stepped away. "We're smarter and we'll figure this out. No one gets your head on a plate or anywhere else for that matter. But we've got to stay calm and think clearly."

"They're playing on our fears." Sam's voice was steadier.

"Yeah." Dean forced himself to relax his shoulders and back. "Eventually, they'll figure out force won't work, so they'll try other tactics, want to earn our trust. We have to stay sharp."

"I'm sorry. Shouting at you isn't helping."

"Don't worry about it." Dean needed to sit down. He walked across the room and dropped into one of the chairs by the table. Sam immediately followed. "The good thing about this dream stuff, we learn things."

"We learned that pain in dreams is real." Sam smiled ruefully. "We also learned there is going to be some kind of disaster and we can't stop it."

"Oh, my, you really are hard on your wardrobe, aren't you?" Bob flicked a finger at Dean's tattered shirt. Both brothers groaned.

Slapping Bob's hand away, Dean asked, "What do you want, Bob?"

"I have a message. You two have a new and very important job. Stop the Apocalypse."

When Bob started turning around, Dean grabbed his arm and forced him to face them. "And how do we do that?"

"How should I know? I'm the guy with the message. You two are the guys with the details." Bob scratched at his jaw a few times before hiking one hip onto the table, letting his feet dangle. "You see, you've got choices. We all have choices. There was this guy once, long time ago, and he had a son he loved more than anything." Bob's gaze first landed on Dean, then shifted to Sam before he returned to staring at the room. "This guy was told he'd have to sacrifice his son. So he took the boy to the appointed location, did exactly as he was told. His son didn't die, and I bet you can't tell me why."

"Bob," Dean growled, "I'm not going to warn you twice."

Heaving a sigh, Bob continued. "That man, he believed. He had faith that his son would be all right as long as the man did exactly the right thing. The son, he was fine."

"What does a biblical story have to do with us?" Sam asked.

Bob hopped off the table and walked to the window, looking out for a few minutes before turning back to Dean and Sam. "Just a nice story I wanted to share. The rest is up to you to figure out. Here's another story, since I'm in a storytelling mood. In times long past, the first-born in a family was always preserved. It was through that person the family line was carried on. The second born was just as important. It was that one who in a time of need was sacrificed for the good of all."

"The needs of the many and so on." Dean really didn't like where any of this was going.

"In a way." Bob landed a hard stare on Dean. "The thing is, we all have choices. Your father, Dean, gave you something a long time ago, when you were a child. He made the choice to pass along to you something very important to you now. It's powerful and useful and it's the card that lets the world survive and everyone live. The best part is, I bet your father never even knew what a miracle he's given you. If you want your brother here to live and you to not be some soldier of Hell, that's what you'll have to use."

Bob smiled widely, clasped both hands in front of him and rocked back and forth on his feet. "It's simple, really. You merely choose. All the answers you need are already inside you." Bob shrugged and smiled, "The choice is yours, Dean. It always has been." He waved and melted away into thin air.

Sam pushed out of the chair and to his feet. "Where'd he go?"

"Oh, no, you don't get to do this. I have questions and you're going to 'fess up with the answers. Now get your feathered," Dean tipped his head back to shout at the ceiling, "_fat_ ass back here, now!"

"Do you have any idea what he means? Dad gave you something? What?"

Dropping his chin to his chest, Dean sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, which was starting to ache. "I don't know. The only things Dad ever gave me were a hard time, fraudulent credit cards, a few poker tips, orders, the Impala and you." He dipped his head side to side. "No offense, Sammy, but I don't think those are world-saving, Apocalypse-stopping souvenirs."

"I suppose not." Sam paced the room. "I need air. Let's take a walk around town, get some food and see if we can spot something that might wipe this place off the map."

Nodding, Dean pulled off his tattered shirt and dug a new one out of his bag. "You know what we're going to do once we leave this town? We're buying a big bale of rope and then we're finding something to soak it in that traps angels. After that, we make a net. And the next time that goofy angel with his clothes that make his ass look…" Dean looked up at the ceiling, this time shaking a fist at it, "…fat shows up we throw the net over him and he has to talk straight."

Sam stood and stared at him. "Uh huh. It's a plan," he deadpanned. Sam twisted around on his heels and headed toward the door.

Grabbing his jacket and keys, Dean traipsed after Sam. They walked up and down the streets, taking the long route to the diner.

"Hey, order me a hot ham and cheese, okay?" Sam tapped Dean's arm, turned away and started jogging in the opposite direction of the diner.

"Where are you going?"

Waving, Sam called over his shoulder, "You'll see. Be right back."

Dean shrugged and went inside, found a booth and placed their orders. As promised, Sam came loping through the door fifteen minutes later with a bag in his hand. He dropped it onto the booth and slid in beside it.

"What's that?" Dean's gaze fell on the mystery bag.

Grinning, Sam held it out. "I felt sort of guilty ruining your shirt because of a stupid dream."

Dean stuck his hand into the bag and extracted a thick, cotton T-shirt. On the front was a picture of the _Enterprise_ and a list topped with the caption _Everything I Know I Learned From Star Trek_. "Hey, cool, thanks, Sammy."

Sam looked down and fumbled with his napkin. "I thought you'd like it."

"Bob will probably have something cryptic and meaningless to add to it."

"Think they have Star Trek where Bob comes from?" Sam straightened when their food arrived and at once snatched up the sandwich and took a big bite. As Sam ate he nodded and spoke to a few people who walked by their table to say hello. It was at the same time creepy and nice to be recognized in such a way. This was certainly something neither of them were accustom to.

"Probably not or they'd be a lot smarter and we'd all be better off."

"Dis es ru." Sam said around his mouthful of ham and cheese on rye.

His kid brother was right: it was very true.


	4. Chapter 4

**PART FOUR**

"What do you think it all means?" Sam crossed his arms over his chest and walked around the motel room, stopping every few feet to dig at the carpet with his boot toe. They'd spent much of the last twenty-four hours combing the town of Seven Trumpets for any clues that might tell them what disastrous event was coming.

Dean sat at the table, the small canvas bag he'd put the coins in was open in front of him and a few of the coins were scattered beside it. He picked one up, turned it over and then, with a flick of his wrist, sent it flying at Sam.

Catching it out of the air, Sam fisted the coin gingerly, waiting for a burn. Dean's gaze followed him even he didn't say anything. Sam met Dean's gaze for a minute before opening his hand and staring down at his opened palm. The coin sat there innocently, no different from any of the change he might have found in his pocket. "You can quit throwing these at me. I believe you."

Putting one hand to his ear, Dean smirked, "What was that, Sammy? I didn't quite hear you."

Sam cranked back his arm and sent the coin sailing back to his brother. "Fine, jerk. You were right, I was wrong. Happy now?"

Leaning back in his chair and flinging one arm over the back Dean smirked. "Yes. I am. Can we be done with the _Sam is evil_ crap now? Bury it once and for all?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. He had to admit it felt good, being able to find things that proved he wasn't evil, and backed up what Dean and Bob had been saying all along. Sam had wanted so desperately to believe Dean's words every time they'd been spoken, but a nagging voice in his head wanted proof. More and more he was being offered that proof. "Now can we move on to our other problems?"

"Yes." Dean smiled smugly and went back to sorting the coins. "Twenty-one coins, all with a different imprint representing a seal. At least we have a starting point, something to look up."

He gathered them up and put them back in the bag, pulling the strings tight. Dean got up and stuffed it into their weapons' duffel. "So what do we have? A town that may be destroyed in a few hours and we don't know why. A handful of coins representing Biblical seals. A thing that looks like Mothman, who's may be a demon come to destroy this town, or an angel come to issue a warning to it. Then there are the nightmares you've been having and again something that looks like Mothman that might be John or might be Azazel or both. It spouts stuff at us John spouted at us while we were at Carver's house. Last, but not least, we have a fashion conscious angel who also spouts a bunch of mumbo jumbo and won't tell us what it means."

"That about sums it up."

"Well, then, at least you and I are on the same page, even if no one else is remotely in our book."

Sam chuckled. The fact Dean could make a joke and find some humor in almost every situation was nothing short of inspirational at times. "Bob said you were given something that is our answer and you'd have to make a choice."

"Sammy, I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out what he—John—might have given me that I'd still have that is the key or an answer and I'm coming up blank."

"I'd say Bob is full of shit except we've been hearing that from multiple sources, including Da—John himself." Sam sighed and wandered to the window, leaning one arm against the frame and gazing out. "You know I hate this, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Dean said softly. "Me too."

Sam stared at the mountain above the town. The sun was rising behind it, casting gold and pink rays through the trees and onto the town nestled at the base of the mountain. His reflection in the window faded away as the mountain—_that was really a volcano_—became more visible in the brightening sky. A cold chill ran through him. He turned to face his brother. "Dean, we have to leave."

"What?"

"Right now." Sam crossed the motel room in a few long strides and started grabbing their stuff, shoving everything haphazardly into bags.

"Sam? What are you doing?"

"Dean," Sam turned to him. "Now, right now, please believe me. Trust me."

They stood like that for a few seconds looking at one another. Dean nodded slowly. "Do you know why?"

"No. Just that…something about the mountain, it's wrong, something is wrong with it…right now, please?"

Dean didn't hesitate that time. He became a flurry of activity, helping Sam. The fact his brother took his word so unconditionally filled Sam with warmth and a self-confidence he didn't often experience.

Arms loaded with their bags, Sam grabbed the keys and ran to the car. He threw everything into the trunk, swiveled on his heels and tossed Dean the keys. They both froze in their tracks when flocks of birds took flight from what seemed everywhere at once. The street filled with the sound of barking dogs, many, many barking dogs. A low rumble started and surrounded them. In unison they stared at the ground.

The rumble became a shaking. Buildings and trees swayed, car alarms went off.

"We have to clear them out." Sam turned and gazed, transfixed, up at the mountain again. Bits of what looked like steam billowed from the sides. It seemed shaped differently than it had been only minutes ago.

"Give me ideas. Something, anything. We have to tell them something." Dean swung around and followed Sam's gaze. He turned away from the mountain to stare at people walking nearby. "Hey," Dean shouted to a woman coming out of the motel office. Closing the distance between him and her, he grabbed at her shoulder with one hand and pointed to the mountain with the other. "Do you see something wrong up there?"

"No." She shook her head and smiled, stepping away from him. "It's very pretty today, don't you think?" She nodded to Dean and turned her head so she could offer Sam a quick smile before continuing on her way.

Dean stood, watching her go before he dragged his gaze from her back to stare at Sam. Shaking his head, mouthing the words, _freaking weird_, Dean jogged back to where Sam stood beside the car.

The entire natural world went deathly quiet. The only background sounds left were those created by man: car alarms, doors banging open and closed, and broken glass falling from windows.

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. Holding his breath, he turned only his head to scan the area.

The shaking intensified without warning. Dean staggered to the side, bracing against the car to keep from falling. Sam went down on one knee, making a grab for the car door handle to pull himself up against.

Silence turned to a roar. Clapping his hands over his ears, Sam's body flinched to one side before he even knew why. In the next second, he bent at the waist, ducking away from some unknown force.

Dark clouds like steam rolled in huge billows, end over end, from the top of the mountain as well as its sides now. Sam squinted at it for a few seconds before realizing steam was really smoke and dust. The roaring turned to some other noise that shattered through the atmosphere. Sam ventured a quick glance at Dean, who was shifting between watching the mountain top and the people in the area going on about their daily business as if nothing unusual was happening. Sam had the rather odd feeling of he and Dean being inside their own private movie.

Dean shrugged one shoulder, and looked just as confused as Sam felt. That didn't really reassure Sam much.

The top of the mountain bulged, belched, and part of the rock and soil at the top dropped away as the peak partially collapsed on itself. Sam barely had time to blink before the rock and stone that had been sucked in was ejected along with thundering explosions and brilliant waves of red. Spinning on his heels, Sam looked around the street, confused. Still no one else seemed to notice anything odd, they were going about their lives as if the mountain their town sat at the base of hadn't just exploded.

"We've got to get these people out of here!" Sam shouted to his brother above the roar.

"They don't really look as if they get what's going on." Dean looked side to side, nodding, "C'mon we'll—"

Bits of rock rained down, making them both cover their heads and duck away. When Sam straightened, he could still see the eruption taking place and the dirt and molten stone pelting them from the sky, but he didn't hear or feel anything. He was treated to the oddest sensation of being inside a bubble.

Then, suddenly, Bob stood beside Dean.

"Listen to me." Bob grabbed Dean's arm and shook it. "These people will not suffer. Down to every last man, woman and child, they will be rewarded. Look at them!" Bob shouted, sweeping one arm in a wide arc. "They aren't even aware of what is happening. You can't save them. They don't need saving and to try and do so would be wrong. There are two, and only two, people in this town who need to live. Feel no guilt or shame. This is your duty. You must go, you both have work that needs done."

Bob's voice deepened and somehow grew to fill every bit of empty space in the world. "Take your brother out of this town, Dean. Take your brother and run."

Eyebrows pulling together, Dean's head turned slowly until he was staring fully at Bob wide eyes that narrowed in the span of one breath. Sam watched, fascinated, as something he could only describe as recollection crossed Dean's features.

Bob straighten and squared his shoulders. His voice came out strong, calm and clear. "Take your brother and run, Dean."

Dean spent another second staring. Sam looked up, first at the mountain, then at the sky, hand on the side of the Impala, when the noise and sensation of being hit with rock returned. Ducking, he threw one arm across his head, and turned back to his brother. Bob was gone.

Dean darted around the car, opened the passenger door and shoved Sam inside. "I think we'd better listen this once."

Before Sam could respond, the door was slammed shut. Dean sprinted to the front of the car, slid over the hood to his side and yanked the door open as the wind went from nothing to hurricane force in a matter of seconds. Slipping behind the wheel, Dean cranked the engine. He started to shift the car into gear but stared at the rearview mirror instead, body completely still. "Oh, shit."

Sam twisted in his seat and gaped at the gray cloud rolling end over end down the mountain and directly at the town kicking trees, dirt and buildings along in front of it. "What the hell is _that_?"

"Sammy, you need to watch more movies…pyroclastic cloud, dude." Jerking the stick shift down, Dean had the car in gear and was stomping on the gas.

Tail end spinning left then right, the car lurched forward, making Sam grab onto the dash to keep from becoming one with it. He turned to watch larger rocks then boulder-sized chunks hurtle into the town, smashing through everything. Yet, the only ones who seemed to be remotely aware there was a problem were Sam and his brother.

Flipping around forward and using the side-view mirror to watch the onslaught, Sam shouted, "Faster, Dean, must go faster!" The car steadily picked up speed. So did the cloud. "It looks like a giant demon."

"Stinks like one too." Dean shut down the heat. "Cover the vents."

Sam started, eyes watering from the sting of sulfur. "Crap." He dug under the seat then turned around and hung over the seat back, rooting around, finally grabbing up napkins and towels. Dropping back, he shoved them against the vents along the dash and floor.

The faster Dean drove, the faster the cloud overtook and buried the town. It was literally ripped up from its foundations and scattered across the mountainside. Cars, building parts and plants were flung high. The one thing Sam never saw was a person. It was as if the town had been deserted all this time.

Scenery sped by, blurring into one streak of brown, green and white backed by light blue sky as they bounced over potholes and swerved around debris blowing into the road. It was dizzying how fast and sure Dean could drive this car. Sam gripped the dash with one hand and the seat beside Dean's leg with the other, alternating between holding his breath and gulping in large amounts of air.

Finally, they were gaining ground and outdistancing the destructive cloud. Not the shock wave winds, however. Trees crashed down, shrubbery was uprooted and blow across the road making Dean turn and swerve to avoid collision every few yards.

Waving one arm frantically, Sam tried to direct him. "Left, Dean, go left…no right…no—"

"SHUT UP! Shit, this is like every bad disaster flick ever made."

Sam let go of the dash and used both hands. "That way…no left…your other left—"

"Lemme drive!"

Sam bit down on his lower lip to oblige his brother. He wheezed out a low groan and braced himself when a tree—oak or maybe maple, Sam wasn't sure and it really didn't matter—crashed down. Branches scattered across the road along with dried leaves, fanning out in every direction. The wind swooped down and picked them up, flinging them ahead of the car and tree.

Skidding to a turning stop, Dean hit the steering wheel, swearing loudly. He had the door open and was out in no time, running to the tree. Sam didn't need him to say a word; he was out and running on Dean's heels in seconds.

"This thing is huge!" Dean spat.

Turning to scan the area, "We need something for leverage." He turned far enough he couldn't see Dean.

He heard an odd crunch and Dean's screamed. Sprinting toward where Dean lay under the tree, Sam dropped down and shoved against the solid mass of wood. "What happened?"

"It…just…rolled…" Dean ground out. He tried shoving Sam away. "Get back in the car and find another route. Get the hell out of here."

"I'm not leaving you!" Sam shouted, grabbed a section of the tree and tried lifting, grunting with the strain.

Getting a hold of Sam's arms, Dean shoved him hard enough his grip on the tree was severed and he stumbled back. "Yes, you are! This thing is five hundred years old and weighs as many tons, you can't lift it."

"Dean, I—" Sam's words caught in his throat when he saw Bob standing a few feet away, hands folded in front of him, watching them with a placid expression.

Getting a good running start, Sam charged Bob and didn't stop until he had the angel trapped between himself and the Impala. Fisting Bob's clothes, Sam gave him a shake. "Help him. NOW!"

Bob glanced down at Sam's hands. "Was I supposed to knock again?" He looked around. "I don't see anything to knock on."

With a growl, Sam shoved against Bob, let him go and stepped back. "I can't move that tree. Dean is trapped. We're both going to die, because I'm not leaving him."

"Then I suggest you go pick up the tree." Bob tilted his head ever so slightly at Dean and the tree.

"It's too heavy. There isn't enough time to cut it away."

Bob placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, making it tingle for a second. "You can do anything you have enough determination to do." He let his hand fall away. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly and folded his hands together again. "Now, Sam, I suggest you go pick up the tree."

Sam's attention was drawn up when the feeling of being in a protective bubble returned. He looked around. There was no noise and nothing moved. Scrambling back to Dean, he was on his knees and shoving against the tree, trying to lift at the same time.

The tree rolled away, freeing Dean and clearing the road. All at once sound, and movement came back to the world. Dean was clawing at him and struggling to get off the ground. Hands firmly under Dean's shoulders, Sam hoisted his brother up and slid an arm around Dean's waist.

"I'm okay. I'm okay." Dean pulled ahead, grabbing at Sam's arm as he did so and broke into a run. "Nothing even hurts now."

When they reached the car, it sat there alone. Bob was gone. They didn't spend a lot of time worrying about it, simply piled into the car and sped away.

Sam sat in the seat, staring down at his hands. "Dean?"

"No." Dean held up one hand for a few seconds then dropped it to Sam's shoulder. "Never. Not a word. We're not looking this gift horse in the mouth or any other part of its body."

Sam decided for once Dean was right. Maybe that was a brilliant idea. Some things were never meant to be explained, simply accepted and offered thanks. Which was what Sam did.

-o-

Dean fished two beers and a blanket out of the trunk. The blanket he tossed over the hood of the Impala, then hiked himself up onto the car, leaning back against the windshield. One beer he took a swig from, the other he handed off to Sam after his brother settled beside him on the hood. The sun was creeping down below the horizon. The night sky was clear and, for now, moonless. Stars were already starting to twinkle to life.

Sam nudged Dean's side with his elbow and pointed up. "Big Dipper."

Smiling, Dean relaxed back more. "Remember how to star hop?"

Chuckling softly Sam nodded. "You taught me that when I was, what? Five?"

"Something like that. Kept you distracted."

"It was fun. I always thought it was so cool how you'd tell me since the light from the stars takes so long to get here looking at them is like looking back in time." Sam extended his free arm and traced a line against the stars. "It still is. Follow the arc to Arcturus." Finger extended, Sam mapped out the shape of the Big Dipper's handle then dropped his arm a bit to point at a bright star. "Did you know that star, Arcturus, has a place in the Apocalypse?"

"Doesn't everything?" Dean took another pull on his beer.

"Well, true."

Kicking at Sam's ankle with the side of his foot, "Come on, tell me. I want to hear."

"One of the stories, at least the part I remember, says a comet comes from the same part of the sky as Arcturus, hits the Earth and wipes out most of life in the seas and is part of the start of the Apocalypse."

"Maybe it's already happened and we just can't see it yet."

"Yeah, maybe."

"It's interesting that we heard about the volcano erupting on the news but not one word about any people in the area." Dean took another draw on his beer and glanced over when he felt Sam's shoulders lift and drop.

His kid brother nodded, but whatever he might have said was cut off by Bob materializing in front of the car.

"It seems Seven Trumpets has really blown her horn. It was her destiny and she did a grand job."

Dean choked on his beer. Beside him Sam flinched and had to grab onto Dean's arm to keep from falling off the car.

"Stop that!" they yelled together.

Bob shook his head and fluttered up to the roof of the car, sitting cross-legged. "You two are way too jumpy, you know that? How is it you ever do any of that ghost chasing stuff in the dark?"

Dean turned away and cranked his head back to look at the sky again. "You moved the tree. I suppose I should thank you."

Leaning down, Bob took Dean's beer, drank from it and handed it back. "I think you just did."

"So, can't I have a beer with my kid brother in peace?"

"No." Bob sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. "What happened in Seven Trumpets is what this entire world will be like if the Apocalypse isn't halted, fire, brimstone and utter destruction. It must be stopped."

"Yeah, we get that. How? Oh, wait I know, the answer is already inside me."

"See, you can learn." Leaning forward, Bob ruffled the top of Dean's head then his hand hovered near Sam who pulled his beer out of reach. "As for you," he flicked the back of Sam's head. "The gift you were blessed with is yours. It was always yours. What you chose to do with it is up to you and only you. You're not evil or a bad person, no matter what you may think."

"Of course he's not. He's my little brother and if he was unworthy he wouldn't be my little brother."

"Ohhh, geez." Sam rolled his eyes and handed his beer up to Bob who was nearly as good at rolling his eyes as Sam. "Here, you need this as much as I do."

Bob swung off the car and stood beside it, handing Sam back his beer.

"You know you can have one of your own." Sam offered.

"No…no, I'm good, thanks." Inhaling deeply, Bob tilted his head back. "That story about the comet is a good one." He pointed to Arcturus. "That's the one there, that bit of rock out in space near that star, you probably can't see it, though. My eyesight is much better."

"Um…no." Dean sat up and rubbed the kinks from his back.

"Well, take my word it's there. It's had some mishaps lately. Got hit a few times and where it's heading changes. Interesting bit of trivia…see, I know a few of those dates its trajectory was changed. The first time ever that it happened was on January twenty-fourth, nineteen-seventy-nine."

Dean turned his head to stare at him. Sam sat up and leaned around Dean to see Bob.

"Then it was bumped again, I believe a few years later, May second, nineteen eighty-three. Interesting, isn't it?" Bob walked around to stand on Sam's side of the car. "Sort of like a big, galactic game of ping pong. A few more hits and it won't be an issue at all."

"Those are our birthdays. There has to be more—" Sam's words stopped abruptly when Bob tapped his forehead. His beer bottle slipped from his hand and smashed on the ground.

Slumping to the side, Sam would have slid off the car had Dean not dropped his beer, jerked to the side and grabbed his brother, holding him against his side and on the car. "Stop that too!"

Bob waved one hand in the air. "He's fine, talks too much sometimes, but he's fine."

Dean had to agree with Bob on that statement. "Wake him up. He can hear anything I can."

"That may very well be, and you can tell him anything you'd like, this isn't a secret. However because of his special—condition—there are things I can not say if he can hear me. The words simply wouldn't come out in any way you would be able to understand. I'm sorry."

Looking away from Bob and down at Sam, Dean nodded. The angel seemed pretty sincere in his apology, so Dean decided it was the truth. Or at least the truth as Bob understood it.

"Here's the thing, Dean. You have the answers, and everything you need to stop this Apocalypse from happening is within you. There are obvious ways and then there are other ways." He reached across Sam and patted Dean's chest. "It's all in here."

"You gotta give me more than that."

"You and Sam have to come to the answers and conclusions yourselves. That's simply how it's meant to be." Bob placed one hand on Sam's shoulder, making him stutter awake.

Sam straightened and looked around. "Wha…happened?"

"You nearly fell off the car." Smile spreading over Bob's face he kindly patted Sam a few more times. "You should be more careful."

Sam looked over at Dean. Shrugging, Dean hopped to the ground, "I'll tell you later." Digging his keys out of his pocket, Dean dipped his head at the car. Turning to Bob he sighed heavily. He should have known the guy would be gone.

Sounds of Sam moving, folding the blanket and the car's gentle rocking as he climbed inside reached Dean. Tipping his head upward, he gazed at the dark sky alive with brilliant points of light. His biggest hope at this point was that every night of his life he never saw a new and unknown comet.

**End**


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